


Promise me a Carousel

by Pfain Ryder (Cat_Moon)



Series: Angelfire Universe [8]
Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-28 19:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19400602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_Moon/pseuds/Pfain%20Ryder
Summary: When Sam leaps into a mentally ill man, he starts showing symptoms of the illness... But is there something else going on?  Amidst all this, Sam and Al continue to struggle with communicating their feelings for each other.  Part of the Angelfire Series, which are best read in order as events build on each previous one.





	Promise me a Carousel

**Author's Note:**

> A Gen version of this story was printed in the zine, "Play It Again, Sam #5."

August 7, 1977:

"Here you are, dear."

I swayed slightly and stared at the woman in front of me, feeling more disoriented than usual. She was a matronly type with a round, pleasant face, somewhere in her sixties.

She was holding out a glass of milk, waiting for me to take it. "It's me, Auntie. I've brought you your nighttime milk," she coaxed gently.

"Drink it, you looney tune!"

I jumped at the intrusion of the gruff male voice, and turned.

A young man glared in my direction. "Or it's off to the funny farm for you."

"Oh boy..."

XXX

I drank the milk obediently, hoping to at least get rid of the man. I relaxed slightly as the animosity left the room with him.

The aunt approached slowly, as if not to frighten me. She brushed my hair back affectionately. "You're real quiet tonight, dear. Are you feeling all right?" The concern in her voice sounded genuine.

"Uh...I don't know." For reasons I couldn't fathom, I was very confused. And worse, something told me it wouldn't be easy to get any information from these people. All I wanted to do was get rid of them and see Al.

Especially see Al.

She was speaking again and I struggled to discipline my mind into listening. "You get some rest. You'll feel better in the morning."

I decided to take a wild gamble and speak what was on my mind. "Am I crazy?" I blurted out.

"Don't you listen to what Phillip says. You have some...problems. I know you can't help it. We'll always take good care of you."

She didn't leave me very reassured. Especially when I heard the click of the lock as the door was closed.

"Oh, no..." I tried the knob, but as I figured, it wouldn't open. Fighting an inexplicable sense of dread, I pulled the room apart looking for answers to my questions. It was sparsely furnished. A table, chair, bed and chest of drawers were the only objects. The drawers were filled with clothes and a few coloring books. I couldn't find a mirror anywhere. Looking down at myself, I saw that I wore pajamas several sizes too large.

I wandered over to the window, wanting to see outside and take away the claustrophobia rapidly setting in. There were bars on it.

"This is just great," I said aloud, needing at least the sound of my own voice to keep me company until Al got there. Looking out told me I was on the top floor of a very large home. The garden below was immaculately kept; the woods beyond the parameter suggested an isolated and substantial piece of land. The people who owned it obviously had money. Not to mention a nephew who was...had problems. I wasn't sure I wanted to find out what that meant.

The whole situation made me uneasy, too reminiscent of my stint in the asylum. Worse, I only remembered bits and pieces of that time, and it scared me. I had a feeling if I screwed up this leap I'd find myself back in a place like that again...a prospect I wasn't sure I could live through a second time.

The silence was getting on my nerves. "Al, I could use your company?" I called hopefully. Only silence answered. "Al?" I laid my head down on folded arms. "Please get here soon."

XXX

When I heard the sound of the Imaging Chamber door, my head flew up and I jumped off the bed. I don't know how long I had waited, there was no clock, either. Regardless, it was too long.

We stood staring at each other, I wasn't sure why. There was something indefinable in the air.

"I'm glad--"

"How're you--"

We spoke at the same time, then lapsed into a brief silence.

"I'm glad you're here," I finally managed to break the spell surrounding us.

"How're you doing?"

The familiar concern in his voice acted like a balm to my nerves, and I relaxed for the first time since leaping in. "Better, now. Why am I here?"

"I didn't have time to feed many scenarios into Ziggy yet," he admitted. "As soon as I realized what was going on, I wanted to make sure you were okay. We've had our hands full," he added.

"With the guy I replaced?" I guessed.

Al nodded, shoving his cigar into a corner of his mouth and glancing at the handlink for exact information. "Beeks says he's a paranoid schizophrenic." He seemed less than thrilled with the news.

"Oh, great." I didn't blame him, neither was I.

"His name is Freemont Cranston. Twenty-five years old, lives with his Aunt May, Uncle Tony, and cousin Phillip, in Searsmont, Maine. It's August 7, 1977."

I noticed how he purposefully avoided the pronoun 'you', using 'him' instead. I knew why.

I waited for more information but he was silent, puffing on the cigar. "That's it?" I finally pressed.

"Afraid so. But don't worry, I'm gonna go back and kick some major butt on this one."

I'd thought my fallen mood hadn't shown on the outside, but I was wrong. "Hurry, I...really need to know what's going on here, I've got a bad feeling." Maybe it was just the chilling echoes of the other leap, I didn't know. "I'm scared," I confessed.

"Hey, you sit tight. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you." By his reaction, I guessed I shook him up with my nervousness. I knew he was scared too. For me.

"Al..." he stopped on the threshold, and our gazes locked.

"You're okay?" he probed. For a moment, it seemed he wanted to say more.

I found a smile from somewhere to give him, and nodded.

XXX

I soon learned of the schedule. Several times a day a glass of milk would be brought for me. Refusal of it was not allowed. Meals consisted of cereal for breakfast, TV dinners for lunch and dinner. No wonder Freemont was crazy. Even I felt I'd go mad if I had to stare at the walls any longer. How could they treat a human being like that? Their own family, no less. I was beginning to believe I was there to save the poor kid from a life of non-existence.

With nothing but time on my hands and no Al yet, I started to consider possible scenarios myself. Freemont wasn't getting much in the way of positive help; what if I was actually there to see to it he was locked up? If I had to let myself be taken to a mental hospital before I could leap...I wasn't sure I'd be able to go through with it.

I had began pacing the room and cursing out the missing Al, when I realized I needed to get my mind off the situation. I sat down on the floor and turned to meditation to help me relax. I finally managed to control the nerves and drift off to a place of silence and nothingness. Time ceased, and I flowed into peacefulness.

Then, the void was suddenly filled with a warmth and light I knew well. I embraced it gladly and opened my eyes in expectation...

**AL** :

I waited, not wanting to interrupt Sam's meditation. After I finished lighting my cigar, I noticed he'd opened his eyes and was looking at me. He smiled an obviously relieved greeting.

"Y'know," I began some good-natured teasing to cheer him up. "It's the weirdest thing. One minute I was arguing with Ziggy over semantics, the next I was just...here, as if someone pulled me here." I pinned him with a mock accusing stare. "You sure you didn't use some sort of power you don't know you have, to conjure me up?"

I was rewarded with a genuine laugh. "Go ahead, make fun of one of the oldest and most respected relaxation techniques. In fact, you could use some of it yourself."

"You don't believe me, I'm hurt." I heaved a huge put-upon sigh, making Sam chuckle again. "Well, okay, I made it up...course you do have a power you don't know you have..." I muttered to myself.

"What power is that?" he asked with curiosity.

I cursed his acute hearing. I was referring to his power over me. I didn't understand it, but it was there. "I'm not sure," I answered evasively. "When I figure it out, I"ll let you know." Ever since our new agreement about honesty, I was getting better at telling the truth without giving anything away. "I know why you're here," I changed the subject.

Sam waited for me to elaborate, finally prompting, "Well? Don't pull a Ziggy on me, tell me!"

"Since you asked..." He glared at me. "To save May. Freemont too, in the process. The only person he trusts is his aunt. With good reason, the other two would like nothing better than to have him committed. She's the only thing standing between him and the padded room."

"You mean me and the padded room," he corrected gloomily.

I couldn't let him get discouraged so early in the game. "Sam," I warned, "Snap out of it. This one isn't that difficult." I checked with the link. "Get this, Freemont is the owner of the whole est--"

"Est?"

I hit the link lightly. "Estate. It belonged to his parents. They died in an airplane crash when he was sixteen. He was never the same after, just kept getting worse until the family had to move in and take care of him."

"Reactive schizophrenia."

"That's what Beeks said," I told him.

"Then he might recover," Sam said hopefully.

"If he gets the chance," I noted. It was always heartening to hear of someone with a mental illness recovering. Unfortunately, the cases of recovery were and far between. And as far as I was concerned, the very profession supposed to be helping them was to blame.

"You said he's the one with all the money?"

I nodded. "They don't have a dime. Yet."

"You mean as long as he's alive," Sam finished for me.

"I don't think it matters much to them, as long as he doesn't become too much of a nuisance. They're living high off the hog, now."

"So where's the punchline?" he sighed resignedly.

"Punchline?" I told a joke I didn't know about?

"Glitch. There's always a glitch," Sam explained.

"Oh. May dies in two days, during an attempted robbery. They never caught who did it, there wasn't even any physical proof of a break-in. After that, Tony and Phillip shipped the kid off to a state hospital, casting suspicion that he was the murderer."

"He couldn't have done it, right? You said May was the only one he trusted."

"Yeah, but the guy's a space cadet. He hears voices, thinks the world is against him."

"So do I, that doesn't make me crazy," Sam pointed out.

"Oh, I don't know about that. You've pulled some crazy stunts in your life," I couldn't help adding.

"Like?" He could read my mind from my face and didn't bother trying to hide it.

"Don't answer that! But at least I never tried to kill you."

That was true...not on purpose, anyway. _It almost killed me the day you stepped into the Accelerator,_ my mind insisted on whispering. "Not yet," I managed to joke, even while the traitor inside continued, _And I die a little each day that you're not home._ Angry with myself, I pushed the depressing thoughts back to their hiding place deep within me. "Anyway, you're here to save May."

"I'm locked in like a prisoner. How am I supposed to save her?"

A reasonable question, but I had an answer ready. I loved beating the boy genius to the punch with a solution he hadn't thought of yet. "Freemont is crazy, you're not. There are certain advantages in that."

Light dawned in his face. "So all I have to do is show them I'm sane, and get out of this room."

"Or, sneak out if you have to," I added, noting his yawn. "It's getting late, why don't you get some rest?"

"You too, Al." He pierced me with a knowing look.

"It's a deal." Ever since his too brief leap back home, Sam had changed slightly. He developed the habit of surprising me when I least expected it. Also more aware of the world outside his own small one, he showed more concern about me. It felt good, but he had enough to worry about. I found myself on the receiving end of a type of blackmail. 'You take care of yourself and talk to me, and I won't spend serious leap time worrying about you', was his new attitude.

I decided to bend our new rules. If he wanted to know something, he had to ask. That way I'd be sure I wasn't laying more on him than he could handle. And by the same token, I wasn't about to push him to talk about things himself unless he was ready. For instance, I knew the pain of the last leap was still fresh in his mind, but as much as I wanted to help, I didn't quite know how to bring it up, or even if I should. When I asked, 'you're okay?', it was a code for, 'if you want to talk, I'm here.' We both knew that. Until then, I'd wait and leave my questions, of which I had many, unanswered.

"Sweet dreams, Sam."

**SAM** :

It was a rude awakening when Phillip dragged me out of my alluring dreamland, pulling me out of bed for milk and cereal. Wanting to go back into the safe cocoon of sleep made me irritable, which in turn made him extra mean.

The vague images that had plagued me all night continued to tease. I couldn't grasp a clear picture, but they were warm and loving and made me feel whole. As they slipped away, I fought to hold onto them, at least cling to the peace they promised. I'd never felt anything like it before. It made me wonder: was it just my imagination, or really out there somewhere?

**AL** :

When I arrived the next morning, Sam was eating Cheerios. He didn't acknowledge me right away, so I took the time to observe. He could look like such a little boy sometimes. Intent on trying to sink the O's, he gave me a rare opportunity to glimpse a Sam Beckett who didn't come out to play very often...at least not these days. I could almost see him as a small kid, the apple of his parents' eyes. He was the apple of _my_ eye...

His first words shattered the illusion. "Where the hell have you been?" he attacked, not looking up from his breakfast.

All I could do was stare in confusion. "I...you told me to go home and get some sleep," I said when I found my voice.

"Yeah, sure you were _sleeping_!" he spat angrily.

There was also a trace of something in his tone I should have recognized, but couldn't. Something was very wrong. "Huh?" I stammered.

"Never mind. What does Ziggy have to say?" He still stared into the cereal.

"Nothing more yet." How much more could there be? He already knew what he was there to do.

"Then why are you here?"

This time I detected a note of suspicion in his voice. _What the hell is going on?_

"Why is Ziggy lying to me?" Sam continued relentlessly.

"I don't know, you created him!" I blurted out. His behavior was weird, to put it mildly. I didn't like the implications. It wasn't possible he was taking on Freemont's symptoms...if so, we were in big trouble. "What's going on, Sammy, talk to me?"

"There's nothing to talk about," he said with finality.

I was about to say something else when the door opened and Phillip came in. At the same time, the handlink chirped for attention.

"What are you lying about?" Sam asked, staring at the handlink in open distrust.

"Nothing!" I insisted. "It's just Ziggy trying to tell me that something urgent has come up."

"So you say. Sure, whatever." He didn't believe me.

Phillip regarded him disgustedly. "Oh God, he's doing it again. I almost started to believe it was over." He shook his head. "There's nobody there, Freemont. Nobody."

Sam nodded, trying to correct the situation. "No, there isn't, you're right."

At least I hoped that's what he was doing. I didn't like the way he was ignoring me.

The cousin stared for a moment, as if not expecting such a coherent answer. He held out a glass of milk.

Sam took the glass. Then, for some unknown reason, he flung it against the wall to shatter into a million pieces. I decided I'd better find out what was going on, fast. I hoped that summons from Ziggy would explain it.

Phillip showed no signs of surprise at the outburst. "I'll get you another," he said with the infinite patience cultivated to deal with the mentally ill.

"Are you okay?" I asked after he'd left, though I feared the answer was plain.

"I--don't know why I did that." Sam looked bewildered. I watched him bend down and start picking up pieces of glass. "Guess I'd better show them I'm responsible."

"Be careful--" I barely got the warning out when I heard an intake of breath. Blood was welling up from a slice on his palm. He wiped it on his pajamas, watched the blood well up again right away. From what I saw though, it wasn't a deep cut.

I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding. "It doesn't look bad, Sam. Keep pressure on it until the bleeding stops." He should have known that himself, but I wasn't taking any chances.

Before Sam had a chance to do anything else, we had company. Phillip stood at his usual position in the doorway, while May rushed in to take charge of Sam. She pulled a handkerchief from one of the drawers and wrapped his hand in it.

She turned on Phillip. "How could you be so stupid as to leave him alone with broken glass? He might have tried to kill himself again!"

"I tried to kill myself?" a mystified Sam asked.

"No, you didn't!" I yelled at him.

"It's all right dear," May soothed. "I think it's time you rested for awhile."

"Rested? He just woke up!" I shouted in outrage. But it seemed he was in reasonably good hands for the moment. "Sam, take it easy. I'm gonna find out what's going on here. I'll be back real soon, I promise." He was letting himself be led to the bed. "Sam?!" I finally got him to nod vaguely in my direction. "I promise."

XXX

A nasty surprise waited for me at the Project. There wasn't any way we could have guessed...at least that's what they kept insisting to me. Nevertheless, I yelled, cursed out everybody. Mostly myself and Ziggy.

Beeks had gotten suspicious when Freemont became increasing lucid with each passing hour, so she took some blood tests. Found out it was all a sham. He was being drugged, with a homemade blend of LSD, and several other drugs I didn't bother to memorize the names of. Put together, they induced the symptoms of schizophrenia.

I stayed only long enough to consult with Verbena on what to expect and how to deal with it, then ran for the Imaging Chamber.

XXX

The scene I walked in on confirmed my worst fears. Sam sat on the bed, alone. He was deep in conversation anyway.

"I know," Sam was saying to an invisible companion. "But knowing and feeling it are sometimes two different things." He cocked his head, listening.

"Hey--" I tried desperately to keep the mood light, for my own sake as well as his. "Are you seeing another hologram behind my back?!"

Sam glanced in my direction. "It's okay, Al. He just came to visit with me for awhile."

"Who?" I dared ask, not sure I really wanted an answer.

"The Master," Sam told me, as if it was plain enough to see.

"Oh God, Sam!" This was worse than my fears. As if my Sam hadn't suffered enough, it was back to taunt him cruelly.

"We've been having a nice talk. He told me all about Summerland."

"Summerland?"

"It's where the soul goes when the body dies."

I didn't like the sound of that, and said so. "You're scaring the shit out of me, so stop it!" Maybe not particularly effective, but honest."

"Summerland isn't to be scared of," Sam related. "It's a place to get rejuvenated, like my time between leaps."

It was definitely giving me the creeps, big time. "Sam--listen to me. Beeks found out that Freemont isn't insane. He was drugged. You've been drugged, with something to induce schizophrenic symptoms."

"But if that were true, he wouldn't be here. And he is," Sam explained reasonably. The truth under his words was all too clear. He didn't want to face reality.

"He's dead!" I yelled, louder than I intended.

Sam laughed, sending goose-bumps across my flesh. "I know that."

Leave it to Sam. He couldn't just make up a nice normal hallucination like other schizos, he had to be unique. I could have dealt with anything, anyone else right then...except the Master. Sam's belief was so strong that it gave me an eerie feeling, almost as if I too were able to see...I shook off the absurd idea.

I turned my mind to a tidbit Theresa had supplied me with. Some psychiatrists believe schizophrenia isn't a mental illness at all, just another plane of reality 'normal' people can't see.

I tried to focus on what Verbena had explained to me, the more easily believable facts. That a schizophrenics' emotional and mental life is crashing into small fragments within, and they're striving to make sense of it. The voices they hear are usually their own thoughts, unacceptable to them. With all Sam had dealt with recently, he had good reason. If that was the case, what the Master said would be coming from Sam himself. I had to listen carefully to his 'conversation.'

"You've got to listen to me, Sam." He was in attentive silence, while the man imparted the secrets of the universe for his ears alone. When he ignored me, I addressed the empty space he was staring at. "Will you explain it to him, 'cause I'm not having much luck!"

I heard the door being unlocked, a second later Phillip was bringing another cup of milk. Sam took it, still in discussion with the Master. His 'cousin' snorted with amusement and left the room.

Sam was about to bring the cup to his lips, when the implications hit me like a ton of bricks. " _Don't drink the milk_!"

He paused at my yell.

"Sam--it's drugged!" I prayed I'd get through to him. I had a feeling they were increasing the dose, getting ready for the final stage of their plan. It hadn't been long since the last dose. If every glass was laced... I was willing to bet it was. Couldn't afford not to.

"How do I know you're not just saying that?" Sam asked in a frighteningly reasonable tone. "Or maybe _you_ did it."

I turned to the space in front of him, I was that desperate. I begged the Master to tell him the truth.

To my relief, it worked. Sam put down the cup. I even got him to pour the stuff down the drain in the bathroom. It meant he wanted to trust me. I hoped it was a good sign.

Still, it was clear I wasn't going to get through to him while he was deep in chat with his delusion. I had to get him to accept reality if I was going to bring him back, be able to reason with him. "Sam," I pleaded. "Look at me." He gave me his attention, and I sighed in relief. Each little advance was a blessing. "I know it hurts, how it feels to lose someone you loved, but--"

"You don't know how it feels to lose _me_!" he yelled.

"Don't I?" I countered, then got a grip on my emotions.

"Besides," he went on, abruptly switching his mood. "It doesn't hurt anymore. The Master explained it all to me. There were things he should've said before he died. He knows that now, that's why he came back. To teach me not to fear death."

My thoughts went back to Sam's last vow before he'd leaped out. _You can have anything else, but not him._ The anger and pain he hurled outward at the forces that had taken control of his life were easy to understand. Out of it all, only I remained. Sam's world was now closed to him. Family, friends, all he knew. Then there was the part we all refused to face...would things _ever_ be put right in Sam's own life?

"I know it's not fair," I tried to continue.

"It's okay." Suddenly Sam was comforting me. It was bizarre. "The Master says no truly helpful Being will demand that you give up something that's natural and beautiful."

I wasn't sure what context it was meant in, or even if I knew what the hell he was talking about. But I was absurdly comforted. "It's okay, Sam," I soothed. "That's right. They wouldn't take everything from you, life isn't that unfair. That's why I'm here. Come back to me now, huh?" I begged.

"I--don't know how..."

I was starting to get through to him, but he needed a push. "I can't talk to you like this," I told him. "This is a private conversation. One of us has to go. Him or me?" I hated saying it. But I would not compete with a dead person, and he had to know that up front.

Sam looked at me with such a plaintive little-boy-lost expression that I almost caved in. He'd lost so much. And I made my own mistakes in trying to protect him more than I should, even he realized that. It was time he learned loss is part of life. No exceptions, not even for time travelers.

Sam gazed intently into thin air. "I'm sorry, you'd better go now." He smiled. "I know he does."

"Does what?" I asked. "No fair talking about me behind my back."

"We weren't," he denied. "You could hear, if you listened with your heart."

"I don't have one anymore, you stole it." It was out before I could stop myself. I was more swayed by the web of imagination he wove than I thought.

Water leaked out from the corners of Sam's eyes as he gazed at me. "Do you want it back?" he asked in a tiny voice.

I shook my head. "It's yours." Baring of soul was becoming a habit.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all. I had him back again, fully attentive. "Al," he asked unexpectedly, "what would you do if you were here, right now?"

I smiled slightly. "Kick you in the butt." My voice and expression left no doubt as to the lie of the words. _Give you a big kiss and tell you I love you?_ No, not even that. The feelings between us were too strong, too easy to abuse, especially at a time when Sam was in a weakened state. I had to be careful. He seemed aware now, as at no other time in his leaping, of what he felt he owed me. I didn't want repayment, the only kind I'd accept was his happiness, in whatever form it took.

Just because something might be living in a person's subconscious, there was no cause to go forcing it out before its time...if there ever would be a time. He had to come to me of his own free will. Until then, a day or a lifetime, I'd wait. I was letting out some truths to myself. My feelings for him were getting too intense for me to hide from any longer, yet I wasn't ready to face them completely. I was more comfortable playing the concept around in my head, teasing myself with it lightly. Under our circumstances, it seemed like the best idea for the time being.

"Al..." His forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I...I've got all these strange things going on in my head. I know they're not right, but I can't seem to help it..." His eyes pleaded with mine.

"It's the drugs they gave you," I explained again. "Why don't you get into bed and try to relax?"

"No!" he exclaimed. "I don't want to sleep. My dreams won't come true!"

"It's okay," I tried to calm him. "You don't have to sleep. I'm gonna stay right here and help keep the weird thoughts away."

That seemed to satisfy Sam, and he climbed into bed. As I watched, I was hit again by the image of the little boy. His complete unquestioning trust in me was a gift I cherished, and another reason to keep silent on some things. I'd rather die than betray that faith.

I pretended to sit next to him, steeling myself for a long vigil.

"Are you gonna tell me a bedtime story?" he grinned.

His way of picking up on my thoughts was highly unsettling. "Let's talk," I suggested.

"About what?" he asked. He was looking into space, mind drifting off and only vaguely interested in what I was saying.

"Anything that's on your mind," I answered, trying to bring him back with encouragement. "Tell me about what the Master told you."

"Oh, he left a message for you," Sam piped up as if just remembering. "He told me about the Shadow on the Threshold."

"What's that?" I asked, curiosity getting the best of me.

"The gate to the subconscious. The Shadow guards the unacceptable there. Everyone has to learn to accept all of themselves, even the parts we lock away out of fear. If we deny any part of ourselves, if we can't admit our feelings, then we're left with anxiety and self-sacrificing, in a desperate attempt to control our Shadow fear."

Self-sacrificing? Okay, that hit a nerve. Enough to know I didn't want to understand what he was saying.

It also sounded enough like Verbena's explanation of what went on in the mind of a schizophrenic to fan my interest further. Was I the only one the message was meant for?

"What does it mean?" I queried. If he was projecting his feelings, I wanted to hear his own interpretation.

"Only you know, Al. He said it was for you."

I wondered what Sam was trying to tell me. "What do _you_ think it means?" I pressed, for a clue to what was going on inside him.

"I think it means something different for all of us. It depends on the person. We all have our own answers."

_My answer is you._

He was being very evasive, with a good excuse in the drugs. My next question should have been 'what are your answers?', but I took his reluctance as a no-trespassing sign.

"Al?"

"Yeah?"

"If I start to see strange things, will you remind me that they aren't really there?"

"What are friends for?" He was drifting off again. "Stay with me, Sam."

I did my best to keep him talking. We filled the hours conversing about everything and nothing. Mostly our past. It didn't matter which timeline, even for the non-drugged that got confusing.

There were times when he almost slipped away again, started answering a phantom or accusing me of something, but he was able to bring himself back with a little encouragement from me.

He told me of his youth. Plenty I knew, some I'd forgotten, others a funny surprise. I talked as well, only with more care about what I related. If I said something from a timeline he didn't remember, it might have sent him off.

We shared laughter while remembering various stunts we pulled; good times we had. We hadn't talked like the old friends we were, since before he'd started leaping. Years, denied many of the most special parts of friendship.

"Hey..." he began, warmth in his eyes. "When's the last time we talked like this?" Once again he'd picked up on my thoughts.

"Too long," I admitted.

"I remember those all-night rap sessions..."

"Rap sessions...God, Sam. What about shooting the bull over a few cans of beer? Light beer, of course." We laughed.

"Remember the carousel?" he asked suddenly.

I stared at him as his question brought it all rushing back. "What the hell ever possessed you to sneak into the park in the middle of the night, anyway?"

Sam smiled at my reaction. "It was that song. _I'd rather live on chances than empty guarantees._ I wanted it to be a symbolic celebration of the birth of Project Quantum Leap."

"It was a strange night, that's for sure," I said fondly.

"You didn't care why at the time, you went along with me anyway," Sam noted.

I grinned. "Ah shit, I think if you came up with the bright idea to skydive off the Grand Canyon attached to a mule, I'd go along with it."

Sam laughed delightedly. "How about if I decided to attain higher consciousness by becoming celibate for a year?" he questioned with a teasing glint in his eyes.

"Now, that's too crazy for me!" I said, horrified at the thought.

He chuckled. "Good. You were beginning to worry me."

"You pulled some strange stunts, Sam Beckett. If people only knew...it'd ruin your image for sure."

"I earned my image honestly!" he defended. "It was you--you were a bad influence."

"Me?! What about the ones that were your idea?"

"The only time I came up with those nutty ideas was when I was with you." His voice lowered. "You bring out things in me nobody else does."

"Should I be insulted?" I asked, though I knew better.

He shook his head. "Honored."

"I am."

"I know," he whispered. "Me, too."

"Are you insinuating you also bring out things in me that no one else does?"

"No," he said, and I just looked at him, waiting. "I know I do."

"Brat."

He smiled wider, eyes glowing. As I looked into those eyes, I felt a warmth spread through me. The moment was too intense to hold. "Why the carousel?" I asked to break it.

"It never ends. Just goes round and round forever."

"Kind of like your string theory?" I asked.

"I was thinking more of _us_ at the time," he told me. "Friendship, no matter what...or which timeline," he added.

"You know about them?" I asked, astonished. He nodded, so I had to tell him the rest. "If you remember, then you know that night was in all of them."

"No wonder it felt like a magical night. I guess it didn't belong to any one time. Funny..."

"What?" I prompted.

"Well, the carousel is a circle. In Wicca, their circles aren't governed by the laws of time."

"Plenty of things aren't."

"Like?" he asked, with a look in his eyes I knew meant he had me where he wanted me.

"I answered readily anyway. "Like our friendship. No matter what else changes."

"Perfect love and trust," he murmured.

"What?"

"The basic law of Wicca."

"That's a nice sentiment, for everyone to live by," I agreed. Something else struck me, a connection I should have seen earlier. "Sam, remember when the Master told you everything is a gift?"

"Sure."

"I think I figured out what he meant. When I found out you were being drugged, I was upset, and scared. The last thing I would have done was to see any good in the situation. But look at us now, if not for it, we wouldn't be sharing this time together. I guess the point is to try and remember; in every bad thing that happens, we should look for that spark of good. The gift. It isn't always easy, I know. But then we wouldn't be so fast to see the bad as a punishment, or some unfair trick being playing on us."

Sam stared at me. I think he was a little stunned by what just came out of my mouth. To tell the truth, so was I. "I guess that's a hint to me?" he asked.

"Well, I admit, I've been hearing too much bitterness out of you lately. It worried me. What good does it do to look at life like that?"

A stricken look came over his features, then eased. "You're right," he agreed. "Besides, I made my own choices. And I don't regret any of them, Al. How bad can life be? After all, I've already got the greatest gift anyone could have."

"Yeah, what's that?" I asked around the lump in my throat, knowing what he was going to say.

"What do you think?" he countered.

"Uh--" I wasn't expecting to be put on the spot.

"Well?" He waited for an answer.

"Well, I, uh, I mean..." He wasn't going to force an answer out of me, was he?

"I figure you know, so you tell me."

He was. "Sam--"

"Tell me," he pressed, eyes boring into mine. He didn't intend to let me off the hook. "What is it, Al? Say it, and believe it!"

"Me!" I finally forced out. "It's me."

Sam nodded. "I'm proud of you. I want you to know what you mean to me."

"I do." It was ironic, he was trying to get me to open my eyes, when I probably knew more than he did about certain situations.

"Promise me something, Al."

"Anything," I vowed. And I meant it.

It came to me then. I guess I should have always known, I had a feeling it was an old truth. Maybe I had, but now I was finally able to say the words to myself, ready to accept it. For the first time in my life, amazingly, I knew what the real thing meant. I was very much in love. Where it would lead I didn't know, but that was okay.

"Al, when I finally come home for good, that first night, we'll find another carousel, and celebrate the future?"

"It's a date," I promised.

In the early part of the evening, Sam drifted off into an exhausted sleep. After making sure there would be no bad dreams to face alone, I left to go and check in at the Project.

XXX

When I popped in again, Sam was awake. He was huddled in the center of the bed, arms wrapped around his knees, head down. I knew he heard my arrival, but didn't bother to look up. I recognized it as the depression Beeks had warned me about. I was hoping after the hours we'd spent together, he'd be in good spirits. The sadness I felt in him hurt all the more because of that.

"How you doin', kid?"

"I'm not a kid. I'm a man," he informed me with intensity.

"I meant it as a term of endearment, but okay, Sam."

He flinched and looked up at me. I hated seeing those eyes without their customary sparkle. "What'd they give me?"

At least he seemed very lucid. I sent a quick thanks Upstairs. "Some kind of home-made concoction featuring LSD. Kind of a Molotov cocktail for the mind."

"His own family," Sam commented sadly.

"It makes sense. One of them must have killed May, and with Freemont the perfect scapegoat, they had it made."

"I've never even seen Tony. Do you think they're both in on it?"

I nodded. "He married some tart two months later, what does that tell you? Probably had a doctor in on it, too."

"And they didn't get caught." It was a rhetorical question.

"You know the conditions in those state hospitals as well as I do." As soon as I said it, I regretted bringing up the subject. Not that it was far from his mind, I just hated being the one to voice it.

For a long time, Sam said nothing. Then when he spoke, his voice was filled with quiet pain. "I did...said some terrible things to you, Al."

"Since when? I had a great time shooting the bull."

"But you'll remember," he continued. "It'll be there between us, unspoken. Sooner or later, it'll affect our friendship."

He was definitely slipping away from reality again. I didn't have a clue what he was talking about. Nothing could be further from the truth, I had to make him see that. "Nothing could ruin our friendship."

"Nothing?" Out of nowhere, a strange intensity entered his eyes.

"Nothing," I repeated, meeting it. Once I did, I couldn't look away. He held me physically, without touch.

He opened his mouth to speak. "Al, I--"

I almost fell on my butt when the door opened, as if the force holding us together had broken with the intrusion. My first thought, even before I registered our visitor, was wondering what he'd been about to say.

It was Phillip, bringing the deadly milk. I watched as Sam meekly took the cup. He bent his head.

"Sam!"

"It's okay, Al," he reassured, smiling into my watchful eyes. "They don't know you're really here. Kind of funny, huh?"

True. Under the circumstances, Sam's normal behavior would be viewed by people in his leaps as schizophrenic. It was a bizarre situation.

Phillip threw him a disgusted look, leaving promptly.

I watched Sam like a nervous hawk, as he transferred the milk to a cup from the bathroom and hid it behind the toilet bowl.

"What are you doing, Sam?"

"There should be physical evidence. To prove he was drugged."

"Blood tests can do that," I reminded him.

"No, they can't." He shook his head. "Neither Freemont nor myself have the drug in our systems any longer, right?"

I was pleased by his clear-headed thinking. "Well, you still do," I answered honestly.

"Maybe that's the answer. Maybe I'm not a time-traveling scientist, just a nut case, locked up somewhere."

He delivered the revelation without emotion, but there was doubt and fear in his eyes. "That's crazy, Sam...I mean, it's not true!"

"How do I know that?" he asked for proof.

"Well, your memories are too elaborate. Besides, could anybody, no matter how insane, possibly make _me_ up?"

Sam smiled, as I'd hoped. "If you _weren't_ real, I'd have to make you up." He studied me for a minute, then threw himself down on the bed again in frustrated anger. "Dammit! It seems like everything I do ends up hurting you."

I was having trouble following his erratic thought processes. "No. As a matter of fact, you bring my great joy." I wondered if he could have remembered our talk and still be saying those things. What could he possibly have to feel guilty over? My own thoughts were going in the exact opposite direction. I was starting to realize that everything in me was being caused by me; we all make our own prisons. Maybe it was wise to blame less on the outer world, and spend more time looking inward. It explained my problem, but did it account for the traces of guilt I saw in Sam's face?

"Even now?" he asked with a small smile.

I snapped back to the conversation. What had I said? _You bring me joy._ "Most of the time," I answered. "Besides, didn't the Master tell you happiness and sadness are only two sides of the same thing?"

He nodded. "And without love we have neither."

"Well then, I've got more happiness than I can handle." I rushed on, knowing what it sounded like, if he looked too closely at it. "Hey, aren't there times when I make you crazy? Huh? Just one?" I teased.

He grinned. We both knew the answer to that one.

"C'mon, you've been through worse, you can get through this."

"I guess so..."

"I know it."

"Y'know, sometimes I feel like strangling you. When all I want to do is give up, you won't let me."

"I know the feeling, kiddo, very well as a matter of fact. You don't know how much I wanted to chuck it all in at one time. I had this...this kid with eyes I can't say no to, hounding me."

"Can't say no?" he asked quietly. I had the feeling he was waiting. But, for what?

I figured if he didn't hear what I was saying by now, then it meant he didn't want to, wasn't ready. "What did you start to say when Phillip came in?" I settled for asking.

"I don't remember..." he said, rubbing his eyes.

Truth, or more evasion? I had no choice except to give him the benefit of the doubt. "It's okay," I soothed, with just enough emphasis to hint of other meanings. Again that wisp of guilt brushed across his features. There was something going on that I wasn't picking up on, and he wasn't going to tell me. "I want to go and check on a few things, make sure we didn't miss anything," I told him. "The deed goes down in three hours."

"I'll be ready," he promised with a sigh.

More than that, I needed a breather. He seemed to have everything under control, so I made my escape.

**SAM** :

Time gets strange when you don't have a clock. Especially when you're battling a drug for possession of your mind. I'd get too confident that I had it under control and relax, then it would attack when my guard was down, and I'd have to tense up again and fight it. I actually picked up one of Freemont's coloring books to amuse myself for awhile. Good thing Al couldn't see me...

I knew he sensed something was wrong, hell, he was pretty obvious in his concern. And in my weakened state, I almost told him... I tried to convince myself there was no reason to feel guilty, I couldn't help myself for my behavior in the last leap. He'd guessed that I loved the Master, but didn't realize the extent of it. I didn't want him to. Whether groundless fear or not, I was afraid of his reaction. If he'd known the Master was fucking me through the floor, he'd go through the ceiling. He'd never believe it was of my own free will.

My truth was that the man was Al's lookalike, that we made love...and in my guilt I went and almost blurted it out. Drunk on his assurances that nothing could affect our friendship. My common sense told me different, and no amount of encouragement from anyone or any religion was going to get me to risk something so precious until I felt completely right about it. I was still confused enough that I probably would have ended up spilling it out, with no clue as to how I'd answer his inevitable questions.

No, I wasn't ready to face the Shadow on the Threshold myself yet. And I wasn't going to screw everything up by forcing it.

XXX

When it happened, it happened fast. I heard the click of the lock. Without thinking, I grabbed the chair and moved behind the door to wait. It wasn't time for another dose of milk. Al still hadn't shown up either, but I didn't know when or if I'd get another opportunity to escape, so I took it.

It was my favorite cousin. I brought the chair down over his head and he collapsed on the floor. I pressed the curtain cord into service to tie him up, and stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth as a gag. I figured he'd be out for a while, the chair was made of heavy wood, and it was now in pieces. I took his watch, and left my prison.

I paused outside the door, running into another obstacle. The house was huge and I had no idea which way to go. I frantically tried to recall when and where Al said the murder would happen. Not having any luck, I decided to search all the rooms. At least I'd be doing something.

I turned the corner on the run, and almost 'ran' into Al. I jumped back instinctively, stifling a yell of shock. "Jesus Christ!" I hissed in surprise.

"I'm sorry, Sam."

Never before had I seen such genuine regret on his face about sneaking up on me without warning. This time, he looked horrified at himself. "It's okay," I told him firmly. "As a matter of fact, now I know my reflexes are good. With the drugs, I was worried about that. Am I in time?"

"If you hurry. May's out in the garden. This way--"

It seemed to take forever, the place was that big. Then, he abruptly stopped, fidgeting with the handlink.

"What's wrong?" I asked, almost hearing the second hand of the watch tick away my time.

He smacked the link with his hand. "Come on, you...he's lost."

"What?" I squeaked. "Ziggy? You've got to be kidding!"

"I'm not, but I can't vouch for him. Sometimes I wonder if he was really one of your more brilliant inventions. C'mon Ziggy!" He gave it a smack so hard, I expected it to fall apart in his grasp. "Oh, handlink malfunction. Okay, we got it now."

I heaved a relieved sigh, and it echoed beside me.

Finally we reached the glass doors which led outside. I eased them open and slipped out, keeping to the shadows to stay an unknown presence. It was quite twilight, the last rays of light were disappearing fast. May was sitting on a lawn chair, knitting. I glanced to Al for guidance.

"Wait," he suggested. "Phillip must have been coming to leave the door open, so you could 'escape'."

"What if it was Phillip who killed her?" I whispered.

"Impossible."

"Why?"

"Too easy," he explained. "He's already out of our way."

Sure enough, a dark figure approached the chair stealthily. I tried to get closer without giving my position away. I wasn't happy with my distance, I wanted to make sure I could get to May in time.

"It's Tony," Al informed me.

To my horror, I inadvertently stepped on a twig. It snapped, loudly. In keeping with my bad luck, Tony heard it and turned.

Of all the reactions I expected from him, I was stunned. He actually ignored me. Then I realized why. He must have figured Freemont wouldn't be much trouble for him.

He was wrong. I lunged, counting on the element of surprise. May heard the commotion and turned towards me. Her eyes widened and she jumped up, thinking her nephew had gone wild.

"It's okay, Aunt May," I tried to reassure. As I came towards her, she ran--straight into the killer. He grabbed her before I could reach them, a pair of Freemont's pajama bottoms around her throat. He was going to strangle her.

"He still thinks you're Freemont, Sam. Use that!" Al yelled.

Al was right, Tony thought I was an easily taken care of problem. He tightened the cloth at her neck, planning on killing her quickly then dealing with me.

He never expected the speed with which I rushed him. It was a risk, but I had no choice. I got my hand between the material and May's neck, and kicked at him. I dared not let go of the cloth, I was all that stood between her and it. Tony punched me in the stomach, and as I fought to hold on, I heard a yell of pain. A man's. Then May was free, running across the lawn towards the house.

"Great! She bit him on the hand," Al crowed.

I lost my balance and fell. I pretended to be winded, guarding my secret. When Tony bent down to check on me, I kicked, jumping to my feet and getting him with a few of my best moves.

I made sure he was unconscious, then started for the house to find May.

"You're poetry in motion, Sam," Al complimented me.

_In other words, he likes the way I move?_

"Better make sure she's calling the cops," he suggested.

"Good idea." I stepped into the doorway, coming face to face with Phillip. He had a gun pointed at my head.

"I guess you thought you were fooling us, by not taking your milk," he began. "But you forgot to pretend well enough. When increasing the dose didn't have any effect, we knew."

"How'd you get loose?" I asked, stalling for time. I stood very still, watching him intently. My chance, if it ever came, wouldn't be a very big one. I didn't think I'd be underestimated again.

"Father untied me, minutes after you left. I waited here just in case he had any trouble with you."

"He's not gonna wait much longer, Sam," Al warned in a nervous tone. "He's gonna shoot."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw May come towards us from the other room. An idea formed, I only hoped she'd pick up on my cues. I looked directly at her. "Hey, what you doing here?"

"If you think I'm gonna fall for that, you are really crazy!" Phillip spat contemptuously.

"Put the gun down, Phillip!" May yelled.

Startled at the unexpected voice, he spun around. I tackled him, sending us both to the floor. We struggled over the gun.

Phillip cut off my air with an arm to my windpipe. I fought off blackness, groping for the gun. Then, the next thing I knew, we were being hauled to our feet. I kept struggling instinctively, until Al's voice cut through the fog in my head.

"It's okay, Sam, it's the good guys. It's over!"

When my vision cleared, I saw three policemen. Another was bringing Tony into the house. They still held me, so I threw a beseeching look to May.

"Not him! That's my nephew Freemont. He saved my life..." There was wonder in her statement.

"I was drugged," I explained hastily. "With something to induce the symptoms of schizophrenia. You should find the evidence hidden upstairs behind the toilet in my room."

"Oh Freemont, I'm so sorry!" I was wrapped in a crushing embrace. Her own husband and son had tried to kill her, and she was apologizing to me. Sounded like something Al would do.

I hugged back.

"That's all she wrote, Sam," Al enthused. "Tony and his nozzle of a son do a nice long stretch in prison. Freemont picks up his life where it was rudely cut off, and May stays here with him, and his new family."

I didn't dare do anything to acknowledge him at the moment, but I managed to smile from over May's shoulder.

He winked. "See ya soon..."

I leaped...

_You'll never find me giving up adventure for success_

_I'd rather live on chances, than on empty guarantees_

_Promise me a carousel, where we can ride forever_

_Circle me with innocence and love, true love_

_Promise me a carousel, where we can ride forever_

_Together we'll keep it going round and round..._

*David Benoit

**the end**

10/2/91


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